


standing down

by outranks



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Bad Decisions, Enemies to Friends, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Religious Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outranks/pseuds/outranks
Summary: Of course the moment Rook’s head hits the pillow, and he gets just the right amount of comfortable, the radio crackles to life with John’s voice.





	standing down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Polarbaroness (MaryTheMango)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryTheMango/gifts).



> prompt fill for Mary, who is lovely ❤️❤️

Somehow John always knows the exact worst times to call Rook over the radio, hissing _sin_ and _wrath_ into his ears. It must be some kind if horrible super power that is tied to Rook, specifically, and only exists to fray his nerves and drive him insane. Almost like John is watching him, waiting for the perfect moment to remind him that the cult is always ready to welcome him into the flock. Which is a theory that holds more weight than Rook wants to consider, especially since he comes to the valley to get away from the more inescapable aspects of the rest of the county.

The Bliss, for starters, but Jacob’s fucking _song_ was even worse.

So of course the moment Rook’s head hits the pillow, and he gets just the right amount of comfortable, the radio crackles to life with John’s voice. “Deputy,” he says, “I know you’re there, so why don’t we save some time and you simply answer me.”

Rook briefly considers throwing his radio against the wall, but there’s always a chance that he may actually need it for something important. “You’d better have a good fucking reason for calling me right now.” And interrupting the first chance at a full night's sleep he’s gotten in _weeks._ The very thing he’s been planning since the moment he found the abandoned house with the working locks, and the intact and _clean_ bed. 

It’s not often that Rook gets to sleep somewhere with walls _and_ a roof. 

“Yes, _deputy,_ ” John has a way of making the word sound jagged and sharp, sending a shudder down Rook’s spine, “I wish to speak with you because I believe that we got off on the wrong foot and I’d like to… make amends.”

Rook waits for John to say more, rolling onto his side so he can prop the radio up on a pillow, and ends up listening only to silence as the punchline never comes. “The wrong foot?” he asks finally, unable to come up with any better response. He’s too damn tired for whatever the hell this is. “Do you mean when you tried to _drown me?_ ” Which remains in the top five worst encounters he’s had with the Seeds so far, second only to Jacob’s obstacle course of murder, and right above being made to jump off the Joseph statue.

It’s been weeks and Rook is still bitter and more than a little annoyed that _Joseph,_ of all people, was the one to put a stop to it.

The radio clicks off and on a few times with a hiss of static that’s too loud in the otherwise quiet bedroom.

“ _Yes,_ ” John says, voice a rough grate of wrath that Rook thinks he has no right to feel in this situation. Rook has never tried to drown _him_ and he’s certainly never called John in the middle of the night when he was just trying to get some sleep. “As I said, I’d like to make _amends._ ”

“Is someone forcing you to do this? Is Joseph there? Tell him that this is a dumb plan and I’m not going to join your cult.”

“It’s not a _cult,_ ” John snaps, quick and harsh, and the radio makes a terrible sound of grinding metal that trails off into a shriek the dies abruptly.

“You still there?”

The radio pops a few time before John’s voice comes back, though slightly more hollow and metallic than it had been before. “I’m still here, deputy,” he says, “and Joseph _isn’t_ here. I’m doing this for myself.”

“Why?” Rook has trouble imagining John as the kind of person who actually _apologises_ instead of going straight for his own confession and forgiveness from God. Bypassing the people he’s wronged entirely. “Why now?” 

“You are important, deputy, whether you realise that or not,” John says, quieter now than he had been. “I’ve seen your wrath, I’ve _felt it_ , and I would rather not watch it consume you.”

Which isn’t at all what Rook was expecting him to say. “What does that even mean?”

“You enjoy the destruction you cause and the deaths you’ve decided were unavoidable.”

“They _were_ unavoidable,” Rook says, “and I don’t enjoy destruction.” Not entirely, at least. There’s a kind of beauty in the way things crumble into dust or burn to ash, if only for the freedom that brings. No one in the Resistance has ever tried to stop him, or said so much as a single word about it. It’s not Rook’s fault that John owns most of the property in the valley and most things that get destroyed just happen to belong to him.

The radio clicks on and there’s a sigh nearly hidden under the static. “Is that really what you believe? Everyone you have killed _had_ to be killed? And everything you’ve destroyed as well? None of it was ever because you wanted to?”

“I don’t enjoy killing people, John.”

“Then why do you do it?”

Most of the time Rook isn’t the one to start the fight, he’s only trying to stay alive. “I don’t have a choice,” he says. “I’m doing what I have to.”

“But you’ve never tried anything else. Every problem is solved with a bullet because all you have is a gun.”

Rook’s jaw clenches, teeth clicking together. “That’s rich coming from the guy who _flays people._ ” Rook is _tired_ and all he wants is to be left alone. “How many people have you carved sin into today? A dozen? More than that? How many people are left in this county without your mark on them?”

“You may not like my methods,” John says, “but at least I believe in what I’m doing. Tell me, deputy, have you saved more people than you’ve killed?”

“It’s not my fault that we’re in this fight.” None of this is Rook’s fault, he’s just doing the best he can with the cards he’s been dealt. Sometimes people die; he can’t save everyone. “What about you, John? How do those scales weigh for you? How many people that you’ve saved are really clean when you had to drug them first? Tell _me,_ John, have you saved more people than you’ve killed?”

The radio stays silent long enough that Rook starts to think that the conversation is finally over, but John can’t let him have the last word. 

“Yes,” John says through a tight clench of teeth. “I know what you’re trying to do. You think that if I’m _wrong_ then your own sin will be absolved and your body count won’t matter, but we both know the truth, don’t we? You can’t _stop._ You don’t believe in _anything_ except that you’re the hero and I’m the villain and that somehow that’s going to make everything you’ve done _worth it_. You—”

Rook throws the radio at the wall where it cracks and falls apart and is finally _silent._

*

By the afternoon the next day Rook is almost finished being angry. For a guy that claimed to have called to apologise John sure as hell failed to do that in any believable way. Rook hasn’t made the Seeds villains any more than they did it to themselves, and even if he does take some enjoyment out of the more explosive parts of his job that’s only because too often everything feels miserably bleak and he needs some kind of motivation to keep going. John has no right to act like _Rook_ is the one at fault in this situation. 

“Hey, Rook? Buddy?” Sharky waves his hand in front of Rook’s face. “I know the Peggies are _the worst,_ but that one is already dead, so you don’t have to look like you’re gonna kill him.”

Rook sighs and pockets the dead Peggie’s radio to replace his broken one. “I wasn’t— I’m not—” he rubs at his eyes as if that will somehow clear his head. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“Don’t you worry about it, man, we can take a break if you want?” Sharky offers. “I’ve got some mystery meat jerky we can eat. Well, it’s not really a mystery, Hurk just said it’s better if I don’t know where it comes from, if you know what I mean.”

“No thanks, Sharky, I had a big breakfast.” Rook had some stale bread, a few slices of cheese and something that has been labeled ‘egg product’ which tasted a lot like spinach. He’s already playing fast and loose with his digestive system without adding mystery meat jerky to the mix.

Sharky nods. “Yeah, that’s probably a good call,” he says. “So what kept you up last night? Anything I should be worried about? You have a habit of walking into bad situations like you’re invulnerable and, I have to tell you, it is stressing me the fuck out.”

“It’s fucking _John._ ”

Sharky’s eyebrows raise almost into his hairline.

“No, not like— not like _that,_ ” Rook hurries to say. “He just wanted to talk.”

“Pretty sure John Seed has never _just talked_ to anyone in his life.”

Rook doesn’t know what that even means, but it doesn’t sound entirely wrong either. “We didn’t really talk much anyway, it was mostly a lot of arguing.” And then he’d stayed awake coming up with all the things he _should_ have said to wipe every last trace of smug righteousness out of John’s voice, while ignoring even the hint of a possibility that anything John had said was true.

It _wasn’t._

“Think he’ll bother you again?” Sharky asks with such perfect timing that’s only realised in the next second when John’s voice rings out through Rook’s new radio.

“Are you there, deputy?” John asks, lightly amused in a way that makes Rook’s jaw clench and his teeth grind together. “I’d like to finish our… conversation from last night.”

Sharky mouths the word _conversation_ with a look on his face that speaks volumes about setting John on fire. 

“I think we’re done talking,” Rook says before Sharky or his own better sense can stop him. There’s a good chance that giving John any kind of attention is what keeps him going, but Rook still hasn’t told him exactly how he can go fuck himself. “Whatever you think you’re going to get from me, you won’t; find someone else to feed your ego, I’m not interested.”

The radio clicks several time with a sound almost like a growl until John finally speaks again. “Either we can talk _now,_ or I can have my people bring you in so that we can talk later,” John says. “The choice is yours.”

Rook waves Sharky off and moves to a more secluded spot behind some trees. “ _Fine,_ ” he bites the word out like with enough force he could somehow hurt John with it. “You have one minute and then I’m leaving for the Henbane where I’d rather deal with Faith and the Bliss than whatever this bullshit is.” Which is mostly true, except how there’s no power on Earth that will ever make him _want_ to spend any amount of time near the Bliss. 

“Alright.” John takes a deep breath, clears his throat, and underneath that Rook would swear he hears shifting paper. “I would like to _apologise_ for how our relationship has proceeded thus far. While our methods may be at odds, we both wish to see the people of Hope County _saved,_ and that is why I propose that we work together.”

What the _fuck._ “Are you—” There are so many questions running through Rook’s mind that he doesn’t know where to start. “ _What?_ ”

“Our goals are… similar,” John says. “It would be beneficial to everyone if we could find a way to cooperate with one another.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“I don’t want to argue again.”

Rook presses the radio to his forehead and takes a moment to sort through whatever is going on. “Okay, okay,” he says to himself before holding down the button to talk. “Last night you said that I’m important, what does that mean?”

There’s a soft static followed by John’s breathing and a light tapping on a solid surface. “You’re meant to be here; you’re meant to stand with us at the gates.”

“John…” Rook doesn’t know how he’s supposed to argue against that, only that he _should._ John’s madness isn’t something that he can fight, at least not physically, and Rook isn’t sure of his abilities to do anything else. This conviction that John has, that the _Seeds_ have, that Rook is special in any way isn’t easily ignored or countered. He’s just a guy who was in the wrong place at the right time, and now all he’s trying to do is his job when everything around him has gone to shit.

“You don’t have to believe me,” John says. “I know that you don’t understand yet, but if you let us— let _me,_ I’ll show you _everything_ and you’ll see that your place is _here._ ”

“I can’t do that,” Rook says, “and your time is up.”

*

Three days in the Henbane is more than Rook can take. The Bliss lingers on his tongue, sweet as sugar and endlessly enticing. Even John’s constant attention is a welcome alternative after days of hallucinations and Faith’s whispered promises in his ear. 

He gets all the way to small house he’s designated as _safe,_ and even has time for a shower before John’s voice comes through the radio. 

Rook makes him _wait._

Instead he tosses his clothes in the kitchen sink, attempting to get all of the blood and Bliss out. Sooner or later he won’t be able to clean what he has and he’ll have to find something new, but most of the houses and stores have been ransacked and what’s been left is never the right size. Rook is already wearing a shirt that’s worn thin around the collar, and jeans with holes in the knees and a tear along the left back pocket that’s eventually going to be a _problem._

“Deputy, if you would rather we talk in person, I can always make that happen.”

Rook sighs, shaking the excess water off his hand, and grabs for his radio. “You know, last time I thought it was a coincidence that you called me almost as soon as I got a new radio, but you are watching me aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” John says.

“Do you have cameras? Am I being followed?” Rook would hope he’d notice if a Peggie were tracking him around the valley. “Please tell me you haven’t assigned anyone to keep tabs on me.”

John doesn’t answer and after a minute of silence Rook is forced to continue a conversation he didn’t want to be part of in the first place. 

“I don’t keep track of you,” he says, like maybe he can reason with John after all this time of seeing all the evidence of how _unreasonable_ he is. And maybe he should be following John’s movements, just to avoid ever running into him. Or knowing when it’s best the get the fuck out of the valley before he’s brought in for another pleasant face-to-face. “Maybe that’s what this relationship needs, John. A little _trust_.” And several miles of county between them at all times.

“I’d love to _trust_ you,” John says, the word sounding ill-fitting in his mouth, “but you _refuse_ to confess your sins and be cleansed.”

Rook pulls his clothes from the sink, wringing out as much of the excess water that he can. “Speaking of cleansing, if you know where I am can you tell your people in the area to leave me alone for a few hours? I’d rather not have to fight anyone while I’m naked.”

The other end of the radio clicks on, but for a few seconds the only sounds is John’s breathing. It’s unsettling, at best. “Deputy…” John starts, and the radio clicks off and then back on. “Deputy, why are you naked?”

“Can’t a man be naked in his own home?” Rook asks, though this definitely isn’t his own home, which might technically make this weirder than it already is. He sighs and peeks out the back window, trying to spot any nearby Peggies, or possibly the cameras John might be using to watch him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t exactly have a lot of options when it comes to what to wear. Since the stores are all picked clean and someone burned down the guest house I just moved in to.” Though Rook barely had more than a single box in there when everything else was still back at his old place waiting for him to send for it, but that’s not something John needs to know. “So I have to wash what I have and hope it doesn’t fall apart until I find something better.”

“You’re doing laundry?”

Rook sighs. “ _Right._ ” Though he’d kill for a working washing machine at this point. “Will you tell your people to back off or not?”

There’s silence on the other end again, which Rook hopes at least means that John is considering it. He’d really hate to run from a bunch of Peggies with his dick out. 

“I will,” John says eventually. “Give me a moment.” 

The radio clicks off and Rook is left waiting for a sign that he can go outside without being confronted by a crazy, bearded man. 

Either a Peggie or John himself. 

It’s warm outside and with the angle of the sun, there’s a good chance his clothes won’t even take an hour to dry, but he’s wondering if it wouldn’t be so bad to stay the night in this house. Intact roof, running water, and while the bedroom may be completely destroyed the sofa looks clean and plush. It would be better than leaving and hoping he finds better accommodations by the time he’s too exhausted to keep going.

“Deputy?” John’s voice cuts back in.

“Still here,” Rook answers.

“You won’t be bothered by any of my people,” John says. “For now.”

Good enough, as far as Rook is concerned. “Well—” he sighs, hating the good manners his grandmother instilled in him— “thank you, John. I… appreciate what you’ve done.” 

He steps outside, closing his eyes for a moment to just feel the sun on his body and the freedom to not be completely on guard. He might not _trust_ John, but he believes him that he’s keeping his people away. 

There are clips already on the clothesline, which his grateful for. Not that it’s windy, but Rook doesn’t know what he’d do if he lost so much as a single sock. He’s running low on spares and with all the walking and running away he does, a blister would only make things worse. 

“If I did confess, would that change anything?” It’s not his best idea, or even what he wants to do, but he’s curious. Just this once he wants to know where that path might lead. 

“You would be _saved,_ ” John rushes to say, nearly breathless with it. “You could atone and be welcomed into Eden with those of us who have seen the light. Rook— can I call you Rook?”

“Most people do.”

“Rook, you would be welcomed into our family, where you _belong._ ”

Which is what Rook thought he would say. Belonging somewhere would be nice, but not at the cost of his humanity. “John,” he sighs, more tired than he’s been all day, “I don’t think I’m who you believe I am. I wasn’t sent here for you, I don’t _belong_ to you. I’m just—” a guy with too much responsibility that he doesn’t know what to do with it all— “me.” And the cult can’t have him.

“I know _exactly_ who you are,” John says softly, “and you’re meant to be with us.”

“John…” Rook inhales deep an exhales slowly. “I’m going to try to get some rest while no one is shooting at me. I’ll— I’ll talk to you later.”

The radio clicks on and holds for a beat before John speaks. “Rest well, Rook.”

*

It’s almost a full week later before Rook hears from John again. Either he finally has something better to do than try to turn Rook into a convert, or he’s decided to change his methods after their last conversation. While the former might be preferable, it’s the latter that seems more likely. And worse, there’s some merit to the idea as well. 

Rook isn’t as angry at the concept of speaking to John as he had been when he first stormed out of the valley and into the Henbane. 

The Spread Eagle is loud, full of people just happy to be alive, and the noise is the only thing keeping his tentative acquaintance with John a secret. He barely hears the crackle of the radio under the music and the laughter of his companions, but it’s enough for him to know to turn the damn thing off before there’s a break in the music. It’s also what makes his good will toward John fade, since Rook _knows_ John is watching him. 

John should know where he is and he still chose a time when Rook is somewhere public to speak to him.

Rook waves off his friends and excuses himself outside, where he finds a quiet and _private_ spot to turn his radio back on. “I finally started to think you weren’t so bad, and you decide it’s a good idea to get me _killed._ My friends might look the other way when we talk, but the people at Fall’s End won’t.”

“I didn’t— Rook, I haven’t been tracking you for _days,_ ” John says. “I wanted— I _want_ you to trust me. If you aren’t actively destroying my property then I don’t know where you are.”

Rook frowns at the radio, unsure if he should believe John, but not finding a reason that he would start lying _now._ “If you did that to make me trust you, then why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Jacob thinks that if you know you might be… dangerous.”

Well, Jacob isn’t wrong, except for all the ways he apparently is. The idea of using John’s new blindspot to take him down hadn’t even occurred to him. “Oh,” he says. “What did you— why did you call me?”

“Is everything alright? If you’re in danger I can— do you need help?”

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” It’s _confusing._

“If you’re _sure._ ”

“Yes, John,” Rook laughs. “I’m sure.”

The static of the radio nearly covers what sounds like a soft, pleased hum. “I was thinking about what you said. About not having extra clothes,” John says. “And I— there’s an old camper East of my house where I’ve left some things you may find useful. There won’t be anyone there, I promise you this isn’t a trap. I want you to know what we are, who we _can_ be once you’ve joined us.”

“John…” Rook doesn’t know what to say to him. The right thing to do would be so say _no,_ to end the call, to change the frequency he uses to communicate. The smart thing to do would be to cut all contact with John Seed and to steel himself for the fallout.

The worst thing he can do is _accept_ what John is offering.

Rook has never been a smart man. 

“East?” He needs new clothes as much as he needs someone who can make things quiet for an hour. Who can make the fighting stop long enough that he can get some sleep. He needs… he _needs._

“Yes,” John says. “A little less than halfway to the Henbane, along the water. I can show you, if you’d like.”

“I can manage,” Rook says. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly where John is talking about and that he’s taken a nap there at least once before. “When I told you about my clothes I wasn’t expecting anything from you,” he adds. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

“I know.”

This isn’t a gift without strings, though he suspects the only thing he’ll be asked for is his attention. Consideration for what the cult has to offer if Rook will only stop fighting them. And that doesn’t seem so bad. Not when John has his ear for a short time every few days anyway. “Thank you,” he says. In another world, a better Hope County, they could have been friends. 

They certainly would have been _something._

“I… Rook, I won’t expect anything from you,” John says. “This isn’t a trade.”

“I know.”

*

Rook waits until night to find the old camper. Partially because he doesn’t want to be seen by his friends, but also because if it _is_ the place he’s thinking of then he can sleep there for the night. A roof over his head and a bed without bloodstains shouldn’t be where he sets the bar, but lately even that feels like asking too much. 

There’s a light on inside when he gets close, which makes him hesitate. The camper is old and broken and doesn’t have a working battery to run on and no electricity to pull from the damn trees. Either someone is inside or this is all an elaborate and confusing trap. 

Or possibly neither, when Rook carefully pulls the door open and discovers only a single bright lamp sitting on the table, next to a pile of _stuff_. Not only is there a stack if neatly folded clothes, but there’s a box of food as well. And several bottles of untainted, Bliss-free water. Rook searches the entire small space for anything suspicious, any reason that John might use to trick him, but everything is almost identical to how he left it from the last time he used the camper for a night. 

And of course the clothes are not only clean, but they’re exactly his size and style. Soft shirts that are better than anything he’s worn in months, and crisp jeans without any cuts or tears. John even included a dozen pairs of clean socks.

It’s more than Rook could have asked for.

He takes out his radio and calls for John, not entirely sure how this is supposed to work from the other side. “Uh, John? You there?” The words are already out of his mouth when he considers maybe John doesn’t have a constant open line to Rook’s personal channel. That he only uses this one when he’s specifically calling for Rook’s attention and otherwise he’s on whatever frequency the Peggies are using. Which at this point Rook really should learn, for espionage reasons. 

“Rook?” John’s voice is loud over the radio and Rook startles, hitting his elbow on the wall of the camper. “Is everything— are you— you’re calling _me?_ ”

There’s something almost _endearing_ about how genuinely shocked John sounds. “Yeah, I wanted to thank you for the clothes and the food. You didn’t have to do this, and… I’m grateful.”

“You’re important, Rook. Not only to the Project, but to—” John cuts out so abrupt that for a moment everything else seems to get quiet too. “There will always be a place for you, if you choose to join us and our family. It’s never too late to confess your sins and atone.” The change in John’s manner of speaking to him sets Rook’s teeth on edge. Like they’re back to square fucking one. “I want you at the gates with me,” he says, so softly that Rook could pretend he hadn’t heard him speak at all.

It drains his anger in an instant until all that’s left is an ache he can’t explain. 

“Greed,” Rook says, giving John _something_ that he can’t describe, but it’s all he has. “I want more than I need sometimes. Friends, family, a place to call home. I have enough to survive, but I want— I want _more_ than that. I want to hoard it all and keep it safe and I want it to be _mine._ And I want to talk to you, even when I know I shouldn’t because I think you’re bad for me.

“You said that I’m wrath, but I don’t feel all that wrathful, at least not the way I think you mean. Sometimes I get angry, I guess. I threw a radio at a wall not that long ago.” Rook shrugs, not that John can see it to appreciate his uncertainty. “I don’t really know what counts as a sin or what you’d have me atone for. Is it a sin if I feel it but don’t act on it?”

The radio clicks on to John’s shaking breaths. “You—” a deep inhale followed by a slow exhale— “you want to confess?”

No, maybe, Rook doesn’t know anymore. “You gave me socks.”

“I gave you _socks_ …” John murmurs, voice taking on an edge of hysteria. “You— after _months,_ you finally confess because I gave you socks?”

“They look warm.”

John laughs, sharp and light and it’s better than anything else Rook has ever heard from him. “I don’t understand you at all,” he says. “If this is how you choose your confession, then I will take it gladly and see you reach atonement.”

When put like that it almost doesn’t sound as bad as Rook thinks it will be. But only if he allows any of this madness to get that far. “What exactly is atonement? I won’t let you flay any of my skin off, John. So if that’s where this is heading I’d like it if you told me now.”

“It’s not, it doesn’t have to be. When you make your confession willingly everything is _different._ ”

“No flaying?”

“Will you— it doesn’t have to be now, I can wait until you’re ready, but will you let me show you? Atonement can be beautiful when you don’t resist the will of the Father,” John says, excitement rich in his tone. “Once you’re sins have been marked, then we can remove them together. I’ll guide you through the path and we can walk side by side into Eden.”

Everything he’s saying sounds like madness and sugary sweet poison, tempting Rook into taking all of it and letting it consume him. He wants to confess, just so they’re even and he won’t owe John for the gifts he’s given. So whatever is between them remains in balance, but walking the path doesn’t sound as bad as it used to, at least not now that he’s starting to believe John wouldn’t slip his knife between Rook’s ribs the first chance he got. 

“I don’t know what else to confess,” he says. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Anything,” John says. “Tell me anything, Rook and we’ll figure it out. We’ll make sure the gates are opened to you.”

*

In the morning Rook feels different somehow, _changed,_ like getting everything out in the open, at least to _someone,_ really was good for him. Even at the cost of tentatively agreeing to let John write his sins on his flesh. Jagged lines and rough edged words drawn on his arms, his legs, his chest in dark ink. He’s seen John’s handiwork more than a few times and the idea of allowing himself to be marked in the same way is starting to hold some awful appeal.

The talking, the _confession,_ and John’s concern have all settled in his head, spinning his mind in a direction he knows he shouldn’t go.

And in a broken camper by the river, tucked away at the edge of the valley, Rook starts down a path he’s not sure he can come back from. Part of him knows that if he doesn’t reach for his radio, if he doesn’t call John that it probably won’t matter anyway. There’s no escaping the Seeds in Hope County, and certainly no escaping John in the valley, and Rook no longer really wants to.

The most comforting thing is that he’s pretty sure John wants just as much as he does. 

“Rook?” John’s voice is sleep-warmed and rough and maybe he fell asleep next to his radio too. “It’s early, is something wrong?

“Tell me what happens, what _really_ happens if I say _yes._ If I… if I join you.”

“You mean, besides atonement? Rook is this— are you—” the radio clicks quiet for a moment before returning with the sound of a door shutting. “Are you asking because you’re thinking of joining the Project?”

“I’m thinking of joining _you._ ”

John’s breath catches on a loud inhale. “You would have to walk the path and speak with the Father— Joseph would hear your confession too, because it’s _you,_ Rook. Joseph would speak with you, but he wouldn’t disapprove; he’d welcome you into the flock, into our family. You’d be one of us, but you’d be _mine._ ”

Rook doesn’t know what to do with that, but he’s not afraid, though he thinks he should be. “What else? What would you ask of me?”

“There are rules,” John says. “We’re all meant to follow them, even myself and you, however… if you meant it, that you would join _me,_ then things would be different. There’s a place for you in my home, if that’s what you want. I wouldn’t ask anything of you that you won’t willingly give, I’m— I _can_ be a patient man. I’ve waited _months_ for you to join us, join _me,_ like you’re meant to, as Joseph said you would. I can _wait._ ”

“John…” Rook scrubs at his face, trying to chase away the last traces of common sense that don’t like what John is saying. “What do you mean, you waited for me?”

The static hums softly, just loud enough to know that John is still there, even when it takes a while for him to answer. “Joseph said you would come to us and you would stand beside us as we walked into Eden and that once you were here everything would be _right,_ ” he says. “I’ve been waiting for you since you first arrived and I saw you and I _knew_ that you were meant for me.”

“You’re saying that God sent me here… to you?”

“ _Yes._ Do you still have doubts, even now? Rook, if you have doubts then let me show you how it can be with you here.”

Rook sits up, swinging his legs off the narrow bed to stand. There’s too much energy running through his veins without an outlet. “I can’t— I won’t hurt my friends,” he says, starting to pace from one end of the camper to the other. “I don’t know what I want and I don’t know if you’re the right choice, but this is over if you expect that from me. So tell me the truth, John, what will you ask of me?”

“Your loyalty,” John says.

Rook laughs, dry and rough, scratching at his throat. “Is that all? Just my loyalty?” Considering what he’s doing, he’s not sure his loyalty is worth much of anything any more. “Not my obedience?”

“You’ve never been _obedient_ a day in your life.”

Which is true, at least to some degree. “And then what? You’ll send me out against the Resistance?”

“You’re better than that,” John says. “I… I won’t send you after your friends, that’s the truth and it’s all that I can promise.”

“But you won’t stop trying to take them.”

“Rook…” John trails off with a soft sigh. “You know who I am, what we are, what we _believe._ They won’t come willingly and it’s my job to save them, even though they resist the will of the Father, no one is beyond hope.”

“You sound like Joseph.”

“He’s my brother.”

Rook snorts. “I know, I mean—” he spins on his heal, heading back to the other end of the camper. “You said you won’t ask for anything that I wouldn’t give willingly. You meant sex, right?”

“I—” John clears his throat. “Among other things, yes. I want you at my side, however I can have you.”

“Okay, that’s…” _good to know._ “Okay.” Rook hasn’t exactly spent a lot of time thinking about that, but he’s more than willing to find out how compatible they really are. Especially since it’s been _months_ and he has a lot of confusing feelings for John that he wants to know the extent of. “I think I might want that too.”

“ _Rook,_ ” John says, sounding utterly broken. “I want you here, in my house where I can—” his breath stutters in a rough exhale— “I need to see you, please Rook, say you’ll come here. I won’t make you choose, not yet, but please, I want to see you.”

The line goes quiet, leaving the weight of the choice entirely on Rook’s shoulders. 

He pauses his footsteps, halfway between one side of the camper and the other. He could say no or he could say _nothing_ and leave John alone, without any kind of promise, but definitely an answer. This could all be over and Rook could consider this only a temporary stop into madness. 

There are a lot of things he _could_ do.

Rook holds down the button on the radio and speaks, “ _Yes._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> shorter things (under 2k) are on my [tumblr](https://outranks.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested in that~


End file.
